18
Apr
2011
And then there were two. Well four between us. No make that five!
We’re back! Refreshed and ready to go. Well, kind of still a bit sleep deprived and distracted, but less so and relatively speaking. I’m at the highest point of my game possible for the foreseeable future. I’m past the dreaded first three months of the second baby so I’m back on easy street – as easy as they get in the suburb of Two Kids (under two) on The Block. New baby is, by the way, completely objectively, very beautiful.
Kate on the other hand is about to pass through the choppy waters of another newborn. In case you missed it she and Captain Sensible have number three on the way. I haven’t told Kate yet but when a mother of three saw another mother of two cooing over my baby at the playground the other day, she warned ominously that a third was a whole other ball game. Two was difficult. Three was utter chaos. On the upside, after that, they say it can’t get any more difficult. Three, ten, all the same . We’ll see – Kate will be telling us all about it. In the meantime, I can report that for me two is on the one hand, not double the trouble, but not filled with many moments that permit you to gaze lovingly and tranquilly on the children that are your joyous good fortune to have.
18
Jun
2010
The children are the future, if you can get them to listen
This week I started teaching English after finally accepting that without mastering the Spanish language, in a market of 20% unemployment, holding out for a dream job in my chosen field probably wasn’t going to get me that holiday out of the community within a community I was hoping for.
To really make me work for my dollar, they’ve given me a class of children. It’s quite one thing to bluff your way through an English class with adults by reading line for line the text from a teacher’s book, it’s another altogether to be charged with controlling a class of 6 year old girls and trying to get their attention for a sufficiently large sequence of nano seconds to impart some knowledge.
9
May
2010
The Land of Limbo – expats and why I am not a spoilt brat. Most of the time.
This is one from the wedding snaps. Not really.
There is a feeling familiar to many expats – well, at least those who have not committed to being an ex-expat, i.e., committing to living in the one country forever, they are usually happy with their choice (and keen to tell you about it, may I mention in a totally non-snipey way). For the rest of us? It’s often the land of limbo baby.
The most common discussion amongst expats, almost from the moment you get off the plane in your adopted country is – ‘How long are you here for?’ ‘How long do you think you’ll stay?’ ‘When do you think you’ll head home?’ ‘Do you think you’ll be here for good?’ And many other equally same-same-but-different-questions.
These questions come from many places – from other expats eager to know if you are staying to keep them company (hello London friends); other locals keen to see you leave (hello everyone who wants a place in my nursery); family who would like their grandchildren to stay put forever (hello mother-in-law); family who would like their grandchildren returned to them (hello mother); friends who want you to come to their weddings (hello increasingly impatient friends on all sides of the world); and people who may or may not want to employ you based on your answer (umm, hello all future employers. This whole post is actually made up.)
